


Hold My Heart (But Don't Break It)

by if_the_sun_sets_burn_it



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas fic, M/M, kind of???, sad fic, there's mentions of sex but nothing really graphic i gues, this relationship of theirs, um idk it's kind of co-dependent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 19:12:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/if_the_sun_sets_burn_it/pseuds/if_the_sun_sets_burn_it
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>that one fic where scott and isaac are fuck-buddies and they go on a sort of date to the carnival</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold My Heart (But Don't Break It)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EnigmaticSplendor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnigmaticSplendor/gifts).



> hey dudes so this is my second scisaac fic please be kind leave a comment and tell me what you think xx
> 
> also this is for kiki because i think it's about time i gifted something to her <3
> 
> [tumblr](http://mcscisaac.tumblr.com)

So. Scott never meant for his friends to tag along on his first date. It just wasn’t meant to happen. Seriously, this was a thing he was trying to _avoid_. Why they were even there when he _specifically sat them down and told them not to be_ is completely and utterly beyond him. All he wanted was to finally get to spend some time with Isaac on Christmas. Not Erica, or Boyd, or Stiles, or Allison, or Lydia, or Jackson—he _told them_ he needed to do this alone. He loves them all to death (really, he does. Stiles came first, of course. They’d met when they were still in diapers and the Sheriff had still been a mess about Claudia. Erica and Boyd came after, they were kind of a package deal. It was weird to see the way they were so in sync with each other. They were also madly in love and it was kind of gross but also kind of cute (not that he’d ever tell Erica that. She’s scary). Jackson, Lydia, and Allison came last, and it’s kind of a blur how it happened, to be honest. One minute he was getting beat up by some asshole named Matt, and the next Allison had Matt in a chokehold and Lydia was threatening to chop his balls off while Jackson was bent down next to Scott asking if he needed help getting up or if he knew how to do it himself. (Jackson’s always been kind of an asshole, but his affection and love is real. Mostly.) Yeah, he loves all of them equally. Just. Not at the same time, probably?)

Anyway, he’d expressed to them at their one of their weekly sleepovers (or as Stiles liked to call them their weekly cuddle party) that he needed some time with Isaac, just so he could maybe finally understand what they are to each other (other than casual stress relief). He needs to know what exactly it is that they think they’re doing (other than each other, obviously), and what the fuck he thought _he_ was doing (because fucking Isaac is fantastic, but, _god,_ he can’t keep doing this to himself. He can’t keep rolling over and pretending that his heart doesn’t stutter every time Isaac wraps a pale arm around his waist).  He _told them._

There’s a hurricane of confusion that’s been destroying Scott’s mind bit by bit, dragging out his sanity and blowing it all to hell, but. But in the middle of it all is Isaac (Isaac who fucks him like he needs (dirty, sloppy, _slow_ ), like he’s the only good thing in the world, like if he fucks Scott slow enough, time will stop and they can lie in his filthy sheets forever. Isaac, who fucks him nice (and lovingly?) when he’s angry at the world for betraying what little trust Scott gives it (because the world is a shady place, and Isaac’s always said that someone that shines as bright as Scott belongs somewhere better); Isaac, who never tells Scott he loves him, fucks him into the mattress instead, and tries to press his love into Scott’s sweaty skin until his mouth and teeth and fingers leave bruises like spilled ink on his flesh. Isaac, who gives him what no one else can because Isaac knows how much he wants, how much he _needs_ (but what he needs is so complicated, he doesn’t even know if Isaac can really even give it to him, and he wonders how long he can keep up this casual fuck-buddy routine without breaking) _._ Isaac knows how to make Scott forget that the clock is ticking, that his life is crumbling and slipping through his fingers like sand, easy and quick like everything else that seems to slip so easily from him. Because his control is slipping right through his outstretched fingers like water flowing freely from a never-ending waterfall; like his blood flowing freely from where his heart used to be _before_ Isaac—because Isaac took him, held him down, and ripped his heart out when he wasn't paying attention.

(But it’s not like Scott said no. He’s pretty sure he’d screamed out yes, actually.)

Isaac is the gentle breeze that settled into a sea storm inside his rib cage, the fireworks that explode behind Scott’s eyelids, the earthquake rocking his body with his smooth hands. Isaac is—well, Isaac is just _Isaac_. Isaac, who cradles Scott close against his body when he’s beyond furious (at himself, at his parents, at the world, but never at Scott, because Scott is the one thing that makes him want to not be angry, just for a little bit. Scott is the only thing that makes Isaac want to slow down for a minute and enjoy the little things, like the taste of cotton candy melting on Scott’s tongue, or the way Scott smiles softly and rubs his eyes sleepily in the mornings when he stays over). Isaac, who always waits for him to get out of lacrosse practice, a lit cigarette in his mouth, chest expanding every time he takes a drag, fingers tapping out a rhythm on the hood of his sleek, black car (until Scott grins and hops inside, because then Isaac taps out the rhythm of his heartbeat into the hollow of Scott’s throat, his thighs, his hips, his fingers).

And, sure, it might be a little selfish to want Isaac all to himself for tonight, but Scott’s allowed to be selfish for once, isn’t he?

Just one night of fun and rollercoasters and eating really expensive carnival food and listening to shitty music while swinging around in whatever death trap they decide to hop into (except maybe that slingshot one, because um, no he’s not going to pay thirty bucks so that he can die of a heart attack, thanks). Just one night of holding hands when no one’s looking, and pressing sticky lips to sugared ones, and maybe just a little bit of fondling, because honestly, life is short and Isaac is hot.

And, _fuck_ , nothing can bring him down from the high he’s riding (the high has nothing to do with the joint he smoked earlier and everything to do with Isaac), because it feels like he’s flying, feels like his feet can’t touch the ground because _Isaac_.

Because, _god,_ Isaac looks good tonight, his bright blue eyes shining beneath the carnival lights, his curls falling softly around his face (and Scott can’t help but think of the way he’s memorized the feel of Isaac’s curls beneath his hands, memorized the way Isaac keens whenever he tugs on his hair and makes Isaac bare his throat to him), and standing way too close to Scott, hands lingering on his waist too long to be considered accidental.

Isaac looks really fucking hot in his black leather jacket, and tight black v-neck, his skinny jeans hugging his ass in all the right places, the metal piercing in his eyebrow shining whenever the lights from the ride they’re waiting in line for catches it at the right angle. And Isaac is playing with Scott's hand, joking around, saying that he has 'velvet hands' and "seriously why are they so soft?"

And, _god,_ Scott can’t fucking see straight when Isaac whispers, “’Bet they’d feel really nice wrapped around my dick,” only to pause and leer before saying, “oh wait, we’ve tried that, and they do,” before going back to playing around with his tongue piercing and that _does things_ to Scott, and by the smug look on his face, he _knows it does._

And Isaac’s happy until Scott’s friends decided it would be okay to crash their—um. Their date? Whatever. Their outing. Their “Christmas cheer” or whatever.

At first, he doesn’t notice them, too wrapped up in Isaac and what he’s doing with his _tongue (ohmyfuckinggod??)_ to realize who was coming towards them at lightning speed. He realizes it when Isaac drops his hand like he’s been burned, and his eyes turn cold, defensive. His arms cross against his chest, like he’s shielding himself, shielding his heart, and it _kills_ Scott because no, this wasn’t supposed to happen.

Isaac doesn’t really feel comfortable around Scott’s friends which is—it’s fine. Isaac’s not good with people. Scott had gotten Isaac to explain why he became so quiet when his friends came around, once. They were both comfortably drunk in Isaac’s small bedroom, and Isaac had whispered that he’d never really had friends, and Scott’s terrified him because they were all so loud and happy and kind all the time. He said he doesn’t know how to act around them.

Scott understands.

His friends crash into them like they always do—loud, boisterous, obnoxious, and invading his space like weeds in a garden (cute weeds that Scott would never cut off, though). They’re all bright smiles and twinkling eyes, and he just fucking _knows_ they did this on purpose. He _told them not to be here._ And the problem is that even though they heard him, they didn’t _listen_ because, honestly, that’s just how they are. They probably didn’t know whether Scott was serious or not.

The thing is, usually it doesn't matter that they can't tell the distinction, because sometimes even Scott doesn't know. But this time is different.

Scott is serious about Isaac. So, it matters. A lot.

When he sees Isaac’ eyes go wide, and watches him let out a deep breath before leaning forward to whisper into his ear that he’ll be right back, that he needs to go have a smoke, that everything's alright, to just stay put and talk with his friends, he’ll be back soon, _I promise—_ he’s only a little bit furious.

His friends are gazing at him expectantly, Allison staring at him with clear, hazel eyes, full of concern and giving him a knowing look, her dark hair falling into her eyes like always; Erica and Lydia gazing at him with raised eyebrows, as if to say _what was that about._ Erica's dark eyes burning a hole through him, and Lydia's are even worse, to be honest. It feels like he’s being silently interrogated. Boyd and Jackson are nowhere to be found, so he’s sure they’re probably stuffing their faces with carnival food. Stiles is looking sheepish, like he’s preparing to be yelled at, brown eyes looking everywhere but him.

"Guys—!”he hisses.

Allison interrupts him before he has a chance to say anything. "We just wanted to make sure you were doing alright. We worry, okay? You’re like our little brother. Besides, it's not illegal to want to come to a carnival, and tonight’s the last night. So.” She shrugs as if to say that’s that.

Scott  doesn’t buy it.

"Allie. Allie, come on. Be serious with me. Why are you guys here? I _never_ ask you guys for anything. You couldn't, I don't know, fuck off just this once?" He looks around at his friends, leveling them each with a glare, until he finally settles back on Allison.

She shrugs again like nothing is wrong and turns to everyone before saying, “Come on, kids. Let’s leave the parents alone to their date night,” she turns and winks at him, and he rolls his eyes fondly, because even now he can’t stay mad at Allison for long. “Come on, I really want to go on the Dream Catcher ride.”

Lydia, Stiles, and Erica give Scott one last look before fiercely hugging him. Group hugs are kind of a thing with his friends. He loves it, anyway. They whisper they love him and say their goodbyes, Allison stopping to kiss him on the cheek, whispering, “I’m really sorry.”

Scott shakes his head as they retreat, turning to search for Isaac, hoping that he hasn’t gone far.

He hasn’t.

He finds Isaac leaning against a trailer that belongs to one of the workers, smoking a cigarette, blowing out smoke from between his lips, making it look like something sordid. He hesitates, walking slowly through the narrow space between trailers, coming to a stop a couple of feet away.

 Isaac doesn’t look at him, taking a long drag from the cigarette. He closes his eyes, leans his head back against the cool, metal trailer, and let’s the smoke pour out from between his pink lips (and Scott thinks the smoke blows out gently, like the secrets Isaac lets slip when he’s under Scott’s sheets, when they’re under the cover of night, both trying to connect the scars on their skin into constellations that’ll make them beautiful while the dull light from the street lamps filter in through the blinds that hide them from the world.)

(“ _fuck, Scott, but you’re so beautiful. How don’t you know?”)_

(“ _god, Isaac, you’re so—fucking pretty. Shut up and fuck me.”)_

Scott thinks that if he could, he’d take a picture of Isaac like this, and hide it deep within the recesses of his mind to keep it safe.

The hand that isn’t holding the cigarette is stretched out towards Scott. Isaac’s eyes are still closed, but Scott steps forward and takes it. He probably should have expected Isaac to tug him forward by his wrist and press him flush against his body, but he doesn’t. Isaac moves them backward until he’s crowded against the cool metal walls of the opposite trailer, his hand on Scott’s lower back. Scott goes easily enough, relaxing into the cool metal, letting Isaac nip at his throat, feeling Isaac’ lips drag across his skin, shivering when he feels Isaac’ breath against his ear.

 When Isaac pulls back from him to take another drag from the cigarette still being held in his left hand, Scott lets loose a breath, peering up at him through thick lashes, almost afraid to say anything (which is stupid, because _honestly,_ it’s just Isaac. They’ve had worse conversations due to circumstances he’s sure neither of them wants to revisit).

Isaac is looking right at him, blue eyes not giving anything away, and Scott thinks he feels his heart breaking, thinks he hears his ribcage cracking under the pressure. Isaac flicks the cigarette onto the ground, crushing it with his shoe, letting some of the smoke escape from his lips, his fingers lifting Scott’s chin up, and his mouth fitting over his like he’s done so many times before.

Isaac exhales the cigarette smoke right into his open mouth, and Scott inhales it like they’ve done a thousand times before (because Isaac breathes life into him when Scott can’t breathe for himself, can’t get his lungs to work), and then he’s kissing him, violent and messy and perfect. His tongue runs along his bottom lip, teeth nipping at it. Both his hands come up and press against the trailer, caging him in, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care, because Isaac could lock him up, could hide him away from the world, and Scott wouldn’t _care._

(And that’s just a little bit terrifying.)

Scott doesn’t know what to do with his own hands, whether to grab at Isaac’s hips, or bring them up to tug at Isaac’s curls, but he thinks ‘fuck it’ and presses his fingers into Isaac’ hips, slipping them beneath his flimsy t-shirt, seeking the warmth that Isaac gives off. He flattens himself against the metal of the trailer, his hands trailing down to grab at Isaac’ ass, jerking him closer, their lips still moving against each other.

Isaac tastes like cigarette smoke, and late night conversations, and drunken fumbles, and something desperate that Scott _desperately_ needs.Isaac tastes like danger, and adventure, and _ohgodpleaseyes,_ and Scott is trying to get closer, is trying to taste more, because Isaac is intoxicating. Scott’s mind has gone hazy, clouded with the heat of Isaac’s skin, because if life with him is a supernova (stars colliding in brilliant swirls of color, a kaleidoscope of burning stars and space dust and ashes), then life without him must be a vacuum in space (dark and empty and _airless_ ).

(Scott doesn’t really ever want to find out.)

They’re kissing and it’s perfect, because it’s dizzying and messy and _fantastic._ Scott can feel Isaac’ tongue piercing and he can’t breathe, _can’t breathe, can’t think,_ his breath coming out in short pants, filling the cool night air with the sounds of breathlessness, much like Isaac fills him with something distracted and frantic and _needy._ Scott hates to need anything and Isaac hates to have to give away any part of himself, but Scott will need Isaac until he’s given enough, and Isaac will give away every single part of himself if it means keeping Scott.

Isaac fits his jean-clad thigh in between Scott’s and grinds down against him, hot and rough and wonderful. And Scott lets out a moan that sounds like Isaac’s name, his hips grinding against Isaac’s thigh, trying to get more friction, trying to get Isaac to move faster.

But the worst thing, the absolute _worst_ thing about all of this is how _gone_ Scott is for Isaac.  There’s a panicky sort of desperation that’s welling up inside of him, a frantic sort of despair that feels like electricity sparking heat across his skin whenever Isaac whispers his name. Isaac’s hand moves from its place on the trailer, and slowly slides down Scott’s side, slipping beneath the flimsy white t-shirt he threw on earlier. 

Isaac’ fingers feel like ice, cold like the blue eyes that watch him fall apart (because he only falls apart when he’s beneath Isaac, bodies twisting and grinding against each other, gasping breaths painting the cool night air with their moans, bodies tangled up in warm bed sheets, sweat dripping down their skin).  His fingers feel like ice, chilly like the wind that’s blowing right now, making them shiver, goose bumps rising on their flesh.

Isaac's fingers feel like ice, frigid like the heart that beats beneath his pale skin, tempting, tempting, much too tempting for Scott to ignore. Isaac is too close, too hot, his touch like a burning iron brand on Scott’s tanned skin.  Isaac’ fingers are everywhere and nowhere all at once, searching, seeking something, and mapping out his skin as if they hadn’t done this a million times before.

Scott feels many things (overwhelmed, frantic, confused) but he doesn’t care, doesn’t worry about it as he presses himself closer to Isaac, wanting nothing more than to feel skin on skin.

Truth is, Scott is terrified, tormented by knowing eyes that see too much of him, sure hands that guide his trembling ones (that twine themselves with his to stop the shaking), when they’re ensconced in the cover that night brings, the utter desolation he feels when Isaac is asleep in _his_ bed (which feels more like _their_ bed), tormented by the lines that are blurry enough that Scott can’t see where they end or where they begin (like he can’t tell where Isaac begins and Scott ends).

Clearly, though, blurring the lines is what they’re both best at.

His heavy breathing slices through the cool night air as Isaac pulls back, and he can’t quite look at him yet, can’t get himself to. He knows Isaac is staring, staring at him, never-ending, never stopping, because he’d once said “ _If I could stare at you forever, and memorize you, I would.”_

Isaac could break Scott into a thousand little shards of something too dangerous to name (something too dangerous to fall for), and Scott would put himself back together and do it all over again, just to taste Isaac on his lips one more time.

His heart feels like it’s beating right out of his ribcage, and he feels so dizzy he’s almost worried that he’s going to pass out, but Isaac’ hands are warm on his skin, and there’s hot air puffing against the skin of his neck, so he doesn’t mind too much. Isaac is saying something, whispering it into his skin like he’s done so many times before, and Scott doesn’t know what to do.

“Isaac, you—I didn’t mean for them to show up. They just did. It’s what they do,” he says into the night air. Isaac is seemingly not paying attention, his teeth biting at Scott’s throat, sucking a bruise onto his skin (and Scott lets him, because that’s just what they do. They give and take and bruise and love until there’s nothing left). When he’s done, he runs his nose up against Scott’s throat until his lips are at Scott’s ear.

“I know,” is all he replies.

And Scott is lost to Isaac, but Isaac is there to catch him and lay him down gently on a bed of sin, and Scott doesn't care. He doesn't care because Isaac's hands are all over him, loving him, sculpting him into something beautiful, untouchable, _invincible_.

Isaac whispers such sweet promises into his ear, but Scott knows better, knows that all things have an end, especially good things. He knows that one day Isaac will leave, and he will be forgotten, and someone else will warm his bed, but for now, Scott clutches Isaac's leather jacket, holds him close, and paints the night sky with their whispers.

He closes his eyes and hopes that Isaac doesn’t feel the way his heart stutters inside his chest.

(He closes his eyes and hopes the beauty will last this time.)

 


End file.
